


You Fell to Me Like Snow

by nonbinaryspock



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Garden of Eden, Gen, M/M, early meeting, i imagine this happening a short while before the prologue where crowley tempts eve and whatnot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 04:45:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19221859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbinaryspock/pseuds/nonbinaryspock
Summary: Aziraphale had expected to be summoned the instant the war broke out. He had expected Heaven to need every angel it could get to stave off the forces of darkness threatening to upset his home, his life, everything he had ever known.He had been wrong.





	You Fell to Me Like Snow

Aziraphale stands trembling outside of the Eastern Gate, weaponless and alone. The sky is dark and the clouds above rumble with thunder, punctuated by bolts of lightning and flame. He can hear the cries of his comrades, can feel the faint drizzle of rain as God weeps for their slain creations. He stands trembling outside the Eastern Gate and he is _afraid_. Heaven is at war and there is nothing he can do.

He had already been on Earth when the battle began. He and the other angels protecting the borders of Eden all felt the sting of loss and the ache for vengeance before they even knew what was going on. And then the sky went black. Not the glittering black of the night sky, or the smooth black expanse of nothingness. It was a sickly sort of black, as if the clouds were weighed down with ash and smoke. With the clouds came a foul stench unlike anything Aziraphale had ever experienced.

Aziraphale had expected to be summoned the instant the war broke out. He had expected Heaven to need every angel it could get to stave off the forces of darkness threatening to upset his home, his life, everything he had ever known. He had been wrong. Apparently, at least according to Metatron, he was to remain outside the garden. It was a crucial job, he had said, one that Aziraphale was _uniquely_ suited to do.

“The rebels could make an attempt on the inhabitants of the garden,” Metatron had said. “Adam, Eve, all the beautiful things God created for them. We need someone at the gates, just in case.”

“But what about the other three gates?” Aziraphale had asked cautiously, not wanting his question to be interpreted as the seeds of dissent. “Shouldn’t the others keep their posts as well?”

“If keeping watch over the four gates is too much for an angel of your status, I suppose we can find someone more capable.”

“No, no, no!” he said quickly. “I’ve got it all under control. Just… give a shout if you find you _do_ need me up there.”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to handle it ourselves.” And with that, Metatron’s image vanished, leaving Aziraphale with a very unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Now, as he looks up at the sky and the Heavens beyond, Aziraphale wonders if he should’ve just gone to fight anyway, regardless of what anyone had to say about it. Wouldn’t that have been the right thing to do?

But Metatron wouldn’t have told him to stay if that hadn’t, in some small way, been the right thing to do as well. Would he?

A shudder runs through the ground beneath his feet and Aziraphale whirls around, looking for what might have caused it. But he doesn’t see anything besides lush green trees and dark soil spreading out for miles in every direction. His gaze shifts back to the sky in time to see a body plummeting through the thick clouds with a bloodcurdling wail. Aziraphale loses sight of it before it lands, but a few moments later the earth shudders again as if to announce the conclusion of his fall.

Suddenly, as if taking the place of the rain, hundreds of bodies begin to plunge down towards Earth as the first had. He can hear some of them screaming, can see the tears falling away from their faces in droplets carried off on the wind. Aziraphale tries to look away from the horrifying sight of it all, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the shower of fallen angels all around him.

Aziraphale had never felt so angry and so heartbroken before in his entire existence.

Not too far from where Aziraphale was currently standing, a patch of clouds dissolves into dark, smoky wisps as a figure falls through it. But this one is different. This one does not plummet or hurtle or plunge like those before him. He does not scream or howl. He does not weep. Rather, he drifts almost serenely down from the Heavens, blazing red curls swept this way and that by the wind. He falls to Aziraphale like snow, pale and gentle amidst the chaos around them.

The fallen angel lands softly on the ground at the outskirts of the forest meant to shield the garden from prying eyes. His feet touch the ground not with a quake, but with a soft gust of air. He stumbles, legs wobbling as if from lack of use. “Right, then,” he mutters to himself, sauntering clumsily in the direction of the Northern Gate. “That could’ve gone a lot worse, exactly.”

“Excuse me,” Aziraphale calls after him, his voice not sounding as authoritative as he wants it to, “but what do you think you’re doing here.”

The fallen angel pauses, his head turning ever so slightly to look at Aziraphale. “What are _you_ doing here?” he retorts. “Aren’t you needed in the thick of things?” He gestures vaguely upwards.

“I’m guarding the gate. Like I’m supposed to.” He peers curiously at the other being. There’s something… familiar about him. Perhaps it’s his hair. Or the way he holds himself. Or perhaps it’s those yellow eyes, their slitted pupils giving him a positively reptilian look. It must be _something._ “Have we… met?”

The fallen angel shrugs. “We’ve met now.”

“Before, I mean. I have the strangest feeling that I… know you.”

He doesn’t respond. His gaze shifts away from Aziraphale and he looks almost wistfully toward the garden. “Have you ever been inside?” he asks softly, with a nod in the same direction.

“I just guard the gate.”

“So?”

“So,” Aziraphale begins, feeling a twinge of annoyance at the question, “I can’t guard the gate from the inside, now can I?”

“But when you’re _not_ guarding the gate,” he presses, “don’t you ever _wonder_ what it’s like? I mean, all those brand new animals. Lovely foliage. And people— _humans._ ” His eyes gleam as he says this. “Haven’t you ever wondered about humans?”

“What I’m _wondering_ ,” he says pointedly, “is what _exactly_ you’re doing here?”

“You know, I’m not entirely sure yet,” he replies. “I’m not sure anyone’s figured out what demons _do_ quite yet. Wicked things, I imagine.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I’m here to do something wicked.”

“Well, if you’re here to do something wicked then I’ll have to stop you.”

“Have to?” The demon grins at Aziraphale, tossing a lock of hair off his shoulder with a flourish. “You know,” he says slyly, “I was just thinking I might like to take a peek inside the garden.”

“You’re not supposed to.”

“I know.” And, just like that, the demon vanishes. Aziraphale’s head whips back and forth in search of the creature, until he spots him standing on the other side of the gate.

“Y-you can’t—that’s not fair!” Aziraphale stammers. “You’re not _allowed_ in the garden.”

“No, _you’re_ not allowed in the garden,” he retorts. “I’m a demon. I can do whatever I like now.”

“You must get out of there this _instance!_ ”Aziraphale whispers aggressively, taking a few steps toward the demon.

The demon leans against the gate, wiggling his fingers at Aziraphale through the bars. “Then you’d better come on in and stop me. Before I do something wicked.” And with that, he turns and struts off into the depths of the garden, disappearing among the trees and bushes.

Aziraphale wrings his hands nervously, looking first up at the sky and then back the way the demon had gone. He knows Michael and the others won’t be happy if he abandons his post, but doesn’t thwarting evil matter more than simply following orders? Isn’t that what angels were made to do in the first place?

“Coming, angel?” the demon drawls, his voice sounding quite distant by now.

Aziraphale looks through the gate into the garden. It _does_ look rather inviting, now that he thinks about it. All of God’s most perfect, most lovely creations all in one place. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to just… take a little peek.

While he looks around for the demon, of course.

With a sigh and a final glance at the sky, Aziraphale gives a little wave to the gate. It swings open with a clang and a creak. He hesitates for a moment, briefly considering the possibility that something awful may happen to him if he goes inside. But then he decides that if a demon can get into the garden without so much as a chipped nail, he shouldn’t have any problems himself. He smoothes his hands down his robe, straightens his posture, and steps into Eden.


End file.
